


Obscurity

by HollyBats (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anti-Muggle Content, Blood and Violence, Dark Magic, M/M, Necromancy, Retrospective, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HollyBats
Summary: Dark Lord Harry Potter reflects upon his life while he gets ready for his public execution in the year 2045.Not abandoned, just getting a lot of overtime. I wouldn't count on an update before 2019.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Not epilogue compliant. I own nothing but my OC's. Rape briefly mentioned in chapter one.

_**September 01, 2045** _

Lord Potter is a terrifying but beautiful man. Tall and ivory skinned, haggard but looking younger than his sixty five years, with a shoulder length lion's mane of black hair peppered with silver and white, and eyes that glow like dark magic. He is every bit as frightening as the stories claim, and every bit as regal, standing tall and unfazed by the window, always watching, always waiting, as he has every day of his thirty year imprisonment.

"Is it time?"

Tomson jumps a the sound of his deep hoarse voice, but he nods all the same. Lord Potter was not looking at him, but he seems to know that he nodded regardless of the fact. The magic dampening chains on his wrists and ankles rattle as he raises a long fingered hand to his lips, presses the farewell kiss to the glass, and then turns away from the window.

Tomson BIakely has been the primary caretaker for Lord Potter for nearly five months. It is certainly not a particularly long amount of time, but he is the only orderly to ever make it past the month mark. He's spent twenty hours a day, six days a week, for every day since four days prior to his nineteenth birthday in the presence of the dark lord, and despite this Tomson can't claim to know the dark lord any more than anyone else can. No one knows his story, but everyone craves to know just what caused him to go from champion of the light to dark lord in only a few short months. Tomson has debated asking several times, but he's never followed through because he is always struck dumb in his powerful and eerie presence.

"I've missed the air." Lord Potter says, staring wistfully out the window again as Tomson unlocks his chains from the wall and hooks them to a large enchanted loop so he can lead him to the transport.

"Well you should get plenty, Lord Potter." Tomson responds quietly, "The car shall pick us up in approximately ten minutes. We'll ride the train Scottland for sixteen hours, and if you behave I'll crack a window. I might even let you walk around, in chains of course. If you misbehave I'll put you to sleep until we reach Scotland. We'll reach the execution platform at eleven o'clock sharp tonight."

Lord Potter smiles and Tomson fights back a shiver. It's hard not to fall in love with Lord Potter. He's charming, intelligent, patient, and gallant. Tomson has never known him to raise his voice or be impolite. It's hard to picture him as a dark lord; let alone the slayer of muggle kind who nearly wiped all non-magical life off the face of the Earth, the leader of the most fearsome army of all time, the man who resurrected Voldemort, and the man who almost single-handedly carved a new era in blood and bone. When he smiles though, it is no hardship to see the demon that hides behind his angelic face.

A heavy knock on the door startles Tomson, and he shakes the cobwebs from his head so he can lead the dark lord to the ministry car. Lord Potter walks with a straight back and high head, the very picture of sophisticated grace, every bit the dark lord they fear. People fling themselves out of the path as they approach, as if sensing the violence and power hidden by his aristocratic handsomeness. It is a stark, but nonetheless refreshing, contrast from how his walks usually are. As timid as Tomson is, people generally crowd around him, and he has to carefully dodge and navigate his way. For Lord Potter the path opens like the biblical red sea. No one needs to say they still fear him despite the chains, despite the thirty years of his imprisonment, their actions speak for them. It is intoxicating, Tomson can't help the way his own posture mimics the dark lord at his side, craving the respect he draws from the fear he wrought long before Tomson was born.

The doors open, flooding the hall with cool air. The sky is bright with vibrant colors, splashes of lavender, streaks of peach, and slashes of rose pink cutting into the pal indigo sky as the sun rises. Lord Potter stops, tilting his head back, eyes closed. He looks so peaceful, so relaxed, and the serenity of his expression only enhances his handsome profile. Tomson's mouth goes dry and he fights the urge to shiver in appreciation instead of fear.

"Move it Potter." Portence snarls, yanking the chain and causing him to stumble.

Lord Potter glares at him, and Tomson's hair raises as he fights a full body shiver. Portence backs away, curling into himself as he stutters out an apology mixed into pleas for his life to be spared. Aurors have their wands trained shakily on the dark lord, and Tomson has no respect for any of them. He has the least amount of respect for Portence himself. Tomson can't bring himself to pity the man, his rival, at the way he so quickly becomes so weak in Lord Potter's dark gaze. To Lord Potter, Lars Portence is nothing but a nuisance, a fly yet to be smacked away, and in that moment Tomson knows he has won. How could he respect a rival so weak? Portence has no claim to that honor. He's nothing.

"I missed the sun." Lord Potter whispers, turning his face back to the sky, words so quite they barely reach him despite the closeness. Tomson isn't sure he was meant to hear, but he briefly squeezes his upper arm to show his sympathy, a gesture unseen because he does not move his hand from where it has been guiding the dark lord.

Lord Potter nods ever so slightly, and then starts to walk to the sleek black car. Tomson opens the door for him, and the dark lord slides into the car with a naturally regal grace that Tomson could never hope to duplicate. He fixes the chains to the back of the passenger seat and shuts the door. When he enters to sit down in the seat beside him, Lord Potter seems surprised.

"Are you coming along Tomson?" He questions, tilting his head sideways with confusion written across his features.

Tomson hesitates, worried he has overstepped his bounds. "I'm not required to," he answers carefully, "but I did clear it with the boss. I thought you might like some company on the trip."

He is rewarded with a light smile. "I certainly wouldn't mind your company." He says kindly. Tomson glows at the words. Coming from Lord Potter they are the highest praise, the greatest honor he could hope to receive.

Hidden by the dark windows, Lord Potter relaxes, letting his head fall back against the headrest. The car starts moving, pulling out smoothly. Tomson relaxes into the silence, watching the dark lord from his periphery. The magic dampening shields make everything feel so heavy, lethargic, and cold. Cut off from his magic, Tomson can't imagine living for thirty years like this. He doesn't pity Lord Potter, though he is certain many would. Rather, he feels admiration for the man, to be so strong despite the cruelty of his stolen magic.

"Tell me, how much is my story worth?" The words startle Tomson, for they've spent the last fifteen minutes in silence and he hadn't expected him to speak.

There had been over a thousand visitors to see Lord Potter in the last month of his imprisonment, eager to ty and ring the story from his lips. All of them had been sent away empty handed, but because of them Tomson doesn't need to guess at the answer.

"Just short of four million galleons." He answers.

Lord Potter chuckles softly. "What would you do with that kind of money?"

Tomson turns a curious gaze to the dark lord, but his impassive face and closed eyes give nothing away, leaving no clues as to his intentions. "I would open a few magical orphanages." He answers easily.

Lord Potter opens his eyes to return his stare with an amused expression. "Oh, would you now?" He purrs the question.

Tomson knows why he is so amused. One of the greater goals he had during his fifteen year war was to open magical orphanages. Tomson has his own reasons. The ministry didn't have orphanages, but first generation wixen like himself were taken from their muggle families and raised by magical families at the first sign of magic. Tomson had been raised by the Smythe family, and his upbringing left much to be desired.

"When I was three, my seven year old sister showed signs of magic and my parents were ecstatic until the ministry came and stole her away. When I was six years old I fell off the roof of my house, but instead of getting hurt I simply floated down like I weighed as little as a feather." He starts. "My parents didn't want to givd up another child. We ran for months, trying to reach one of the sanctuaries with the government on our tail. The bounty hunters caught up to us mere hours outside of the London sanctuary. They murdered my parents in front of me and then abandoned me to an abusive magical family because they didn't have anywhere else to put me."

Lord Potter places a comforting hand on his thigh and his chains rattle softly at the action. "I wasn't even as bad off as others. I wasn't sexually abused, I wasn't starved, and I wasn't murdered by my magical family." He continues. "My sister was. She was placed with a different family, and her magical guardian raped her, beat her, and starved her. She died at twelve giving birth to the child he forced her to cary. My niece was seven when I tried to adopt her and he murdered her. She already had signs of long term sexual and physical abuse. The healers said that he likely started when she was as young as four."

The feeling of a warm hand brushing his tears from his cheek only makes him want to sob even harder, but he forces himself to swallow his pain.

"If there was anywhere else for them to go they could have survived, but no matter what Lestrange did they were still trapped with him. Worse, he wasn't punished because they were his property and there are no laws to protect first generationals or any orphans for that matter." Tomson concludes through the tears. "That's why I would fund the creation of magical orphanages, as many as I could. So that there would be a sanctuary for everyone orphaned by the ministry, everyone stolen from their parents, and anyone who could need a better family for any reason."

Lord Potter pulls him into a fatherly hug, and Tomson can't help the surprised noise that escapes him. The embrace lasts only a second, but he can feel the warmth of his strong arms long after. Silence reigns for a few minutes, then Lord Potter speaks again.

"You remind me of him." He reveals in a soft sad voice. Tomson only needs a second to discern who he is referring to. "He had eyes like an abyss, empty and cruel, but inside he had nothing but pain. He was an orphan like you, like me. His name was Tom."

Clarity washes over him like a wave. Tomson had always wondered why Lord Potter had chosen him of all people, given how he'd botched his first day up so splendidly. No one knew Voldemort's real name, it was not written in any books. Tomson shares a similar name to the man Lord Potter loved above all others. The tiny morsel of knowledge is a gift more treasured than any other.

Lord Potter rests his head back on the headrest again, closing his glowing pale eyes. His voice fills the car, rumbling deep like a thunderstorm.

"I was born in the summer of 1981..."


	2. Chapter Two

By the time the two hour car ride has ended, Lord Potter has recounted everything from his birth to his defeat of Voldemort. It is all common knowledge, written in children books and historical biographies alike. Many of the books claim he never truly defeated Voldemort, that he'd convinced him to fake his death and hide for a few years, that he'd been in league with the dark lord since his resurrection in 1995, but Tomson trusts Lord Potter's words to be truth.

The story telling takes pause as they switch from the car to the train. Tomson leaves the car first, stretching his stiff limbs, and he walks to the otherside of the car to help Lord Potter out. He unlocks the chains so that he may lead the dark lord to the train compartment, giving him a moment to stretch his own limbs in the full sunlight as the Aurors surrounding them keep their wands trained on him to prevent any attempts to escape, despite Lord Potter's apparent lack of desire to do so. The Aurors follow them into the train and watch as he secures the magic dampening chains to the wall, and then they leave the two of them alone as they fill the remaining compartments.

As the train leaves silence reigns, and Tomson fights to stay patient as he eats the meal they were served by the authorities. Lord Potter doesn't touch the bland scrambled eggs and plain butterless toast as he drinks both of their coffees black, instead offering them to Tomson who scarfs the food down like a starved wolf. He hadn't the time for food since the night previous, and he is grateful for the warm, albiet unflavored, food. Food finished, Tomson hands the empty foam containers to the Auror outside the compartment and shuts the door, settling back down in the seat across from Lord Potter. The dark lord kicks his feet up on the seat beside him, relaxing into the velvet seat.

"There is no such thing as a soulmate beyond fiction, " He jumps right into the story, "but you have to understand that my soul had occupied the same space as Voldemort's for over sixteen and a half years. What other word could there be to describe what he was to me? In fiction a soulmate who killed their intended would go insane, so was it any wonder that I couldn't survive without him? He had been a part of me for so long I couldn't see beyond him. He who had tortured me and consumed my life for so long. To me his presence was as necessary as the sun itself and I was ruined by the lack of his ever present light. The thorns of him twisted so deeply and intimately into my very being that once they had been removed I had no sense of self. I was nothing without him."

_**June 05, 1998** _

"Harry, you can't keep shutting everyone out!" Hermione yells at him through the door. Harry tugs the soft blankets over his head tighter, blocking out more of her voice so her words are muffled. "We can't help if we don't understand. Please, let me in."

He doesn't move from his bed. It is so hard to breathe. He can't eat, he can't sleep. Everything is a cold and lonely. Empty. Be feels like his heart died with Voldemort. He died when Voldemort died.

The door opens and Harry curls inward as the footsteps come closer, but the blankets are not yanked away like he had expected. The person nudges his shoulder, and Harry uncurls and shifts so that he is only occupying half of the bed. Ginny lifts his blankets long enough to crawl in with him, and then she tucks the blankets around them like a bubble trapping them both into a world consisting of just the two of them and his broken heart.

"Why does it hurt so much?" He whispers.

He doesn't ask why he can't love her. Ginny, perfect wonderful Ginny, with her gingerbread eyes and her autumn copper hair and her endless patience. He shouldn't be so consumed by someone he never truly knew, someone who wouldn't have ever felt such sorrow in his absence, when Ginny is here, so patient and loving, waiting so tolerantly for him to get over the grief of someone he can't even fathom why he is so affected by the loss of.

"You can't control who you fall in love with." She sighs.

Does he love Voldemort? Did he? It doesn't feel like love, but the heartbreak is all too real. Harry can't imagine being in love with Voldemort, doing romantic things with him, but his heart aches for his presence. It is an obsession, an infatuation. Voldemort is probably rolling around laughing in his grave.

"They are signing the Elysian Treaty today." Ginny informs him. "They want you to attend. I think you should."

A week after Voldemort's death the European Confederation of Wizards had declared that the Statue of Secrecy was out dated. In honor of Dumbledore's sacrifice they decided to reveal the existence of magic to the world at large. The Elysian Treaty is the treaty between the magical and muggle worlds, declaring the intention to keep peace between the two races.

"How?" He questions, laughing self-deprecatingly.

Ginny cards her fingers through his tangled hair. "Just take it one day at a time." She answers. "It will be hard, but if I can live without Fred, you can live without Voldemort."

When she puts it that way, Harry really can't say she doesn't understand. Ginny lost her brother. Harry lost his nemesis. His loss can't compare bug Ginny isn't the one who hasn't left her room in two months. They've all lost people, they've all been hurt. Harry sighs heavily.

"I will try." He promises.

Ginny grins brightly at him. "Go take a shower and come down for breakfast." She says. "Doesn't have to be a lot, just eat a quarter. Afterwards, if you decide that you would rather go back to bed, you can. No pressure Harry."

Harry does as asked, crawling slowly out of bed and crossing the hall to the shower. He hesitates to turn on the water. His skin is still dirty from the battle two months ago. The moment he washes his skin he will wash away the touch of not just Voldemort, but many others who died. Feeling guilty, Harry turns on the shower and gets in. The hot water runs black as he washes the grime of camping and war off his skin and from his hair. Smelling of Ginny's lavender soap, he steps from the shower and wipes the mirror clear of condensation. His hair is long and he has a beard. Harry trims and shaves his face, but his hair he leaves hanging to his shoulders.

He gets dressed in his nicer clothes and heads downstairs. No one aside from Ginny is there and Harry suspects she convinced them to go early. He is grateful, he didn't know if he was ready to face anyone else. He manages a glass of earl grey and an orange for breakfast, and then agrees to go to the treaty signing before he can change his mind.

It turned out to be the worst decision of his life.

_**September 01, 2045** _

"We would never know who was responsible for bombing Godric's Hallow, but over two thousand people lost their lives." Lord Potter says darkly.

Tomson shivers at the intensity of his grave face. In history class the tragedy of the Godric's Hallow bombing is covered as the unofficial start to the Great Wixen War, or World War 3 as the muggles called it.

"Ginny died in front of me." Lord Potter clenches his fists as he speaks, each word harsh and biting like a wolf's snarl. "Her death, and more importantly the lack of action to bring justice to our fallen, broke me out of my cacoon of depression. As the days passed with no reaction from the authorities I began to realize the truth. If Voldemort had won the war, the muggles wouldn't have discovered the existence of Wixen. If Voldemort had won Ginny would have survived. In that moment I decided to betray the magical nation. If they wouldn't fight back, if they wouldn't seek justice for our dead, I would."


	3. Chapter Three

"Was that when Ouroboros was founded?" Tomson asks eagerly. "After Ginny Weasley died?"

Lord Potter stares unblinking at Tomson for an uncomfortably long time, eerie eyes seeming to scrutinize his soul. Tomson looks away after only a few seconds, feeling vaguely frightened, but he knows this isn't odd. Most people have a hard time looking at Lord Potter's eyes for very long.

"Yes, and no." He answers finally. "The Order of Ouroboros as you know it was not formed until after the bombing of Diagon Alley and the resurrection of Voldemort. While we would later grow into an army many would call the greatest army of all time, in the beginning we were scholars. Researchers trying to discover a way to separate the magical and muggle worlds, so we could live in the same place but no longer be forced to interact."

"The Arleta Domes." Tomson realizes with a start.

The Arleta Domes are the spells that separate the muggle and wixen worlds. They were named after the minister of magic of that time, Mallory Arleta, who created and cast the spell to end the bloody war the very day after Lord Potter was captured. The day after Voldemort disappeared. They are exactly what they sound like, shimmering impenetrable domes all across the world. There are a total of twenty domes, the largest two covering both Europe and Australia respectively, one over each of the remaining ten major magical schools, and the other eight scattered across various islands and Countries, including one over Japan. From the outside, where the muggles live, the wixen world appears trapped in snow globes. Traveling from one dome to the next, as they are doing, is impossible without the use of enchanted muggle transportation, like the train they currently ride.

"She didn't cast it properly." He sniffs dismissively. "Had she done it correctly the muggles wouldn't have suspected anything. Magic and all wixenkind would have simply vanished. We would live on an invisible planet beside them, with the earth in the sky amongst the stars and the moon and sun."

Tomson almost can't believe it, but Lord Potter is nothing if not honest. Oblivious of his inner turmoil, Lord Potter continues. "You could almost say that Arleta really did create the spell, by botching the ritual up so badly, and by being so greedy as to attempt casting it on her own so she wouldn't have to share the glory. But, we are getting off track."

"Right." He tries not to show his disappointment at the end of the conversation.

"In the beginning everyone feared retaliation." His pale eyes burn bright as he continues his story. "We scraped the remains of our dead from the burnt husk of Godric's Hallow and buried them in a mass grave, for not even magic could seperate who was who. The treaty was signed in an attempt to foster peace, and since no one wished to oppose the treaty, everyone ignored as bombs and curses took more lives, both magical and muggle. This was the beginning of Ouroboros."

Tomson shivers in delight, the horrific tale appealing to the darker side of him that longed for another war. Lord Potter shifted so his feet were tucked to his side, straining the chains despite the small size of the train compartment.

"The Order of Ouroboros was formed in the fire and blood of our fallen, named not to honor Voldemort as so many now believe, but to strike fear into the hearts of the muggle terrorists." He continues after taking a drink of tea from his thermos. "We spread the name in whispers and rumors, glorifying our little group into a fierce rising army. It was more effective than we dared hope, so much that even without our presence the mere whisper of probability of our showing up would frighten them away. It couldn't last forever."

_**October 31, 1999** _

The ballroom of the Malfoy Manor is filled with the acrid sent of blood and smoke. There is barely any room with all the stretchers packed tightly as they can, while still leaving enough space for healers. Harry stares at the wounded survivors of the bombing of Diagon Alley, biting his lip so hard he can taste blood. Luna comes to stand at his side. Frowning, she takes his hand and leads him from the room. The doors slam shut behind them.

"Damnit!" Harry growls, fighting against the rage and despair.

He tears his hand from Luna's comforting grip and punches the wall. He punches the wall again, and again, and again, until Luna wraps her arms around him. His bruised sore fingers drip blood onto the marble floors. Harry sobs in her embrace, his mind haunting him with images of the wounded, the dead, and Hermione's unconscious body draped awkwardly over the stones of Gringotts, back broken in a way magic wouldn't be able to fix. Hermione was in the Ally because of him. He broke his wand arm, but Hermione will never walk again because of him.

The goblins were massacred brutally, a targeted genocide aimed to cripple them by eradicating their economic system. Only three goblins survived and they are in critical condition. The healers say it would be a miracle for them to survive the night.

"It was a test." Luna says. "The muggles were trying to prove the army doesn't exist."

Harry nods. "Then let's show them how wrong they are. If they want an army let's give them an army."

_**September 01, 2045** _

"With the death of the goblins the former members of the order of the Phoenix, former death eaters, and creatures alike started swarming to back us." Lord Potter states. "We were small still, but we grew in numbers with every tragedy, and as more and more arrived it began to form into an army in all but name. It wasn't until after the Morach Coven Vampires joined that we discovered necromancy, and by then our army was only two hundred strong. In February, two weeks after the coven joined the Order, we gathered at Hogwarts to discuss who to bring back."

"Why did you decide to resurrect Voldemort?" Tomson inquires. "Was it because you loved him? Why not your parents, or Remus, or Sirius, or even Ginny?"

"I didn't suggest Voldemort," Lord Potter smiles at him, "Luna Lovegood did."


	4. Chapter Four

"What?" Tomson can't help but exclaim.

Lord Potter chuckles softly at his shock. "You have to understand that at that time I wasn't yet a Dark Lord. I wasn't even the leader of the Order of Ouroboros. We were a democracy, not yet an army, and it was determined by the Order as a whole that we could only bring one person back, the risk of even one was far too great."

"I was the only one who could make the trip because I was the only one who had died and came back unchanged." Lord Potter reveals. "I wouldn't have ever suggested Voldemort because I was unsure if I wanted to suggest him because he was truly the best asset for the war, or if I was being selfish because I was still so hurt inside by the loss of our soul connection."

He takes a drink from his thermos and then chuckles again. "Luna suggested Voldemort as an option and everything descended into chaos. Everyone started screaming at each other and throwing things. I intervened after the first spell was cast, and I forced everyone to settle down and vote. In the end, of the two hundred sixteen people in the Order aside from me, I couldn't vote as meditator, one hundred eleven elected to resurrect Voldemort."

"Just two over half." Tomson realizes with a jolt. "Given how much he influenced the war, I can't imagine how it would have gone with someone else."

"We will never know." Lord Potter comments sagely. "It took some time to prepare the ritual, but the muggles were being quite, and we were determined to resurrect Voldemort before the next bombing. We were finally ready at the end of April. Just before midnight welcomed Beltane I laid down next to Voldemort's preserved corpse. I took a potion that would kill me and preserve my body in a stasis, but I would have only twenty four hours to come back to my body or I would die for real. I can't say for sure what I expected to find on the other side, but the Labyrinth of Iskari was not it."

_**May 01, 2000** _

_Harry blinks as he stares at the Labyrinth before him. It is an intimidating view, dark hedges standing tall in looping complicated patterns. The air smells bitter, thick with dark magic._

_"What business have you in the Labyrinth of Iskari, mortal?" A voice calls out._

_Harry twists around, attempting to draw his wand before remembering he is dead, and therefore has none. His outstretched arm hangs awkwardly in front of him, giving away his weakness to the stranger. The woman is pale as snow, with a long face and too large eyes. Her hair is silver, hanging to her waist, and she has eerie uncomfortably pale grey eyes that glow lightly. She is dressed in a white dress that moves like water, and behind her stretch large menacing diaphanous wings like glass moth wings._

_"I wish to take someone home." He answers carefully. "Do you know where I can find Tom Marvolo Riddle?"_

_The fairy grins, a mouth of shark teeth glinting in the purple light of the sun. "At the center of the Labyrinth, necromancer, in the grand temple where mutilated souls are healed. If he hasn't already joined our ranks, you may take his soul, but you will take his place among our ranks when you die. Do you accept?"_

_"I do." Harry says quietly._

_"You will make this journey without aid from the fair folk, do you understand?" He is asked next._

_Harry nods. Seemingly satisfied, the fairy waves her long fngered hand and a gate opens to let Harry into the Labyrinth. He stands there as the door closes behind him, debating whether he should go left or right. In the end he spins until his equilibrium is completely lost, and with his eyes still closed he takes seven steps. He opens, glancing back, but the door is not there._

_Harry continues his walk, turning this way and that way, each turn making him more and more lost. A rustling is all the warning he gets and then the hedges start coming to life, vines reaching out to grab him. Harry uses a sharp rock to slice through the vines, shimmying free and running. He turns three corners, and suddenly there are wolves at his heels. Another turn, the wolves become horrible shadowy creatures made of black slime, shifting forms._

_Harry shuts his eyes tight and he runs. He concentrates on the familiar presence of Voldemort's soul and follows the warmth. He somehow doesn't run into anything. He just runs and runs until he suddenly feels the need to stop. He opens his eyes to see a grand buy ominous temple made of obsidian._

_He enters. Inside is a starry abyss. The fairy from earlier appears before him. "Pick a star, Harry Potter." She requests. "But pick wisely. Choose the wrong star, and you will be trapped here forever. Choose correctly, and you will wake up with Tom Riddle alive at your side."_

_Harry stares out at the galaxy surrounding him. Of the billions of stars in the temple only one calls him. "I choose you." He says, and the tiniest star in the sky comes floating down. As it grows closer it becomes brighter, until it is blinding_.

He lurches up in the bed, heart pounding, and his eyes instantly find the stirring form of his once nemesis. Safe in the human world, he looks to Voldemort with a grin as he sits up. The dark lord opens his mouth, but before he can speak, the door flings open. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Molly, and Andromeda burst in the room, the last holding his sleeping godson. Withing seconds he is being drowned in hugs.

"I was so worried!" Molly cries. "Oh my boy, I knew you weren't dead. I knew you couldn't be dead."

Harry looks around to see everyone else's faces. looking just as relived, tears running down many cheeks. "Guys relax." He grins. "I was gone for like fifteen minutes."

Silence reigns and every person in the room exchanges uncomfortable and frightened glances. It is Luna who finally speaks. "You were dead for five weeks."

_**September 01, 2045** _

"Of course, I couldn't just trapeze through the land of the dead, the land of the fairies, and take Voldemort's soul without paying the price." Lord Potter laughs. "I didn't know this then though, so when I left without paying a sacrifice the queen of the fair court sent a guard to make me pay. Voldemort's journey was paid by my agreement to take his place and the loss of time, but I still had two debts to pay, one for passage to the temple at the center of the labyrinth, and one for the journey back."

"What was the price?" Tomson frowns.

"My eyes." Lord Potter grins at the horror on his face


	5. 5

"They took your eyes?" he questions, horrified, unable to stop himself from reaching up to touch his own, as uf attempting to reassure himself of their safety.

"Yes. It was probably very traumatic to watch too. I'd been dead for five weeks, and then I was dragged out of their arms by a creature they had never seen. Before they could so much as breathe they got to watch him gouge my eyes out with his claws before vanishing, leaving me screaming on the floor in a pool of my own blood. I don't remember much of the actual event. Just pain and then darkness." Lord Potter grins. "I don't hold it against them though. They gave me better ones."

In the story books, Lord Potter's eyes were green as emeralds before excessive use of dark and horrible magic stole their color, leaving only vaguely glowing pale silver irises with too wide pupils like an empty abyss. His eyes don't reflect only adding to their ominous mystery. Tomson has always wondered why his eyes are so frightening, and now he thinks he knows.

"Fairy eyes!" He gasps as he realizes. "You have fairy eyes!"

Lord Potter gives him a slow smile. "Right in one."

"But how?" He asks. "Why?"

"Voldemort." He shrugs. "In the five weeks I stayed in the fairy realm the world apparently descended into complete and utter chaos. The war had officially started and I wasn't able to lead the Order of Ouroboros in my state. He took over for me. We reached an understanding, a peace of sorts brought on by me resurrecting him. I called us even, he killed my patents and I killed him, it squared away our past. My resurrecting him needed no payment. Voldemort, however, believed that he needed to even the scales."

"What did he do?" Tomson frowns.

"He summoned the queen of the fair court." Lord Potter laughs. "When you die your soul is reborn. Unless you create a horcrux, then your soul goes to the temple for a hundred years, to become a fairy upon the completion of your punishment. His soul was freed upon my agreement with the Fair Queen to take his place in the temple. In exchange for my eyes he offered to return to the temple after his death. Unfortunately the fairy queen had eaten them, so she gifted him, and therefore me, the eyes of her favorite knight, the one who had taken my eyes in the first place."

Tomson gasps, wide eyed. "What's it like?" He asks. "Seeing with fairy eyes."

Lord Potter sounds almost bittersweet when he speaks. "Like going from two-dimensions to three." He chuckles. "I can see so much. I see magic, souls." He pauses. "I can see the consequences of my choices. The paths are laid out before me as natural as water or air. No one knew aside from Voldemort. I only told him."

* * *

This is regrettably as far as my muses can take me. I have opened and closed this chapter every day for two months with no more than a few words. 

Up for adoption. I will send my notes and stuff to whoever wants them. Interested parties please email me at: belovedanathema@gmail.com

Make sure to address it to Hollybats in the subject line or I might not realize that it's for me. It's my sister's email account. I can't access the one attached to this account.


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